


Paris in Love

by Persephone



Series: Sons of Troy [11]
Category: The Iliad - Homer, Troy (2004)
Genre: Anger and Retaliation, M/M, Orgy, Sibling Incest, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris is angry at Hector. And payback, they say, is a bitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hector was yelling at him again.

Paris sat very still, and hungrily fantasized about Hector’s dark eyes, his long, thick curls, his full lower lip, the perfect lines of his strong face…

His body was on fire. His tongue ran frantically against the back of his teeth. He wanted to bite into Hector, to wrap his legs around his waist and be crushed under his surging weight while Hector grated all the admonitions he cared to into Paris’s ear.

But he wasn’t allowed to make any moves towards Hector. Much less touch him. Never mind melting into that hard body. He wasn’t even allowed to _look_ , as Hector hated him to look directly at him when he scolded.

So Paris sat stock still in his wide leather-bound chair, eyes averted from Hector’s face, praying Hector would get angry enough to come after him, instead.

Paris sighed quietly, having long ago accepted that Hector was, and always would be, an enigma to him.

With no one else was Paris so patient, or patient at all. When it came to pleasure he took what he wanted, when he wanted. The goddess had promised him that.

But in contending with Hector he contended with his own love, and for him he would patiently sit still.

“…if only for one _second_ you would stop your debauchery and at least give an outward appearance of caring for Troy and her people—”

Paris snorted under his breath.

They were in Hector’s house, on the balcony of an upper living room that faced the city. The view was magnificent, and Paris loved to sit here with Hector’s family in the morning sun, if he woke early enough to catch it.

At the moment, however, it was late night, and Andromache and Hector’s son, and indeed the rest of his household, were fast asleep. Hector had come in from the fields for one night only, and Paris had had to wait until after he visited with his family before he could spend time with him.

Now, he finally had Hector to himself, and despite Hector’s interminable scolding, he knew there was no need to rush anything.

He smiled out over their beautiful city, at the thousand glowing points of lights across it.

“Who says I do not give thought to Troy?”

“People _talk,_ Alexandros,” Hector snarled. “And I do not hear you denying their accusations of excessive behavior on your part.”

He shrugged dismissively, trying to hide his smile. “Simply because their sons and daughters line up for a chance to—”

Hector’s goblet slammed on the thick wooden table and dark wine sloshed out. Paris stopped talking.

They were sitting less than four feet apart, and Hector leaned forward at him. Paris could smell him, his scent laced with the sweet wine he had been drinking before he’d spilt half of it onto the table.

“That is all you are good for, isn’t it?”

“Not _all_ …” his smile threatened to break out but, as Hector did not seem to be in a laughing mood, he suppressed it and kept his eyes averted.

Then he realized that Hector’s lips would also be tinged with the taste of sweet wine. If Hector kissed him tonight, not even nectar from the gods would taste as good. Well, Hector never really _kissed_ him, just licked…

Eyes still averted, Paris slowly licked his own lips, hoping Hector would see and take the hint. But, of course, he didn’t.

“You have no self control,” Hector was chiding.

This time Paris’s laughter snorted out before he could stop it. Of course he had self control! How else did he not spurt all over himself every time Hector glared in his direction.

His eyes discreetly roamed the balcony and the darkened entrance leading into the living room. Perhaps there was a strip of leather somewhere he could point to and break Hector’s concentration… The rope tying his robe was unfortunately under the table in his sitting position, so he couldn’t simply pull on it and unravel it… But maybe…

He began flicking at the seam of his robe where it lay against his chest, willing Hector to reach over and tug it aside.

But Hector was not done berating him, it seemed. Paris heaved a heavy silent sigh, dropped his hand, and continued waiting.

“Everyone in the entire civilized world knows this about you. That you will lie with anything that crosses your path and catches your eye.”

Untrue. But Paris merely shrugged.

What were the right words to break this talkative mood Hector was in? Something shocking that would immediately push him over the edge and make him chase Paris all the way to his own house. And when Hector caught him Paris would howl his pleasure until his voice cracked.

His smile finally manifested, and expanded across his face.

“Well I am glad for your sake you see something amusing in using other people for your selfish releases.”

Hector’s voice had become very quiet. It was enough to make Paris raise his eyes and look at him. He saw that Hector’s face had darkened even more. Paris’s heart quickened uncomfortably. Hector was not simply frustrated with him as usual, he seemed bitter.

Something was wrong.

“I daresay,” Paris began slowly in a more somber tone, “it is not an entirely unpleasant experience for the other person…”

“Of course not,” Hector ground out, meaning the opposite. “Who doesn’t want to be reduced to nothing but a _studhorse_ in your harem. Who would not want that _honor_.”

Paris’s breath caught. The bitterness in Hector’s voice sliced with ice cold blades, and he was at a loss of words.

He struggled and found his voice. “What in the name of the gods are you talking about?” Then it stabbed home. He leaned forward and said in a low voice. “ _Us?!_ Hector, do not be ridiculous!”

Hector stared icily at him. “Watch what you say to me, Alexandros.”

“I am sorry,” Paris shook his head. “But surely you see how wrong—”

“No, I do not,” Hector interrupted derisively. “You appear whenever I come into the city, or you come out into the fields looking for me, always for just one thing.”

Paris pressed his lips together and looked away. That one thing was everything to him.

“And I, like a fool, let you have your way…”

Paris’s eyebrows shot up. He _never_ had his way with Hector.

His mind whirled back over their conversation, trying to determine when things had gone wrong and pushed in this direction.

“And when you are done using my body for your pleasure you cannot wait for me to _leave_ so you can bring the next idiot into your bed.” Hector laughed grimly. “Or _group_ of idiots, I suppose, depending on how well I performed.”

Paris stared. “B-but Hector!” he sputtered. “It is _you_ I am in lo—”

“You think me an animal, don’t you?” Hector smiled humorlessly. “Well perhaps next time you can save yourself the trouble of having to _speak_ with me afterwards, by simply bringing a _real_ horse into your bed. It would not be so far off from the things you do now, anyway.”

Silence.

For several moments Paris thought Hector had actually kicked him in the chest. “What?” he finally chocked. “ _What_ did you say?”

“Me, or that horse you never ride into battle. It makes no difference to you. Or to me, for that matter.”

Paris blinked a hundred times in shock. He thought he had misheard the first time, but clearly he had not. He shoved out of his chair, sending its heavy wooden frame splintering with a loud crack as it slammed backwards onto the stone floor.

Hector’s startled expression did not check him for one moment. He simply walked across the balcony, through the living room, and out the door.

Hector was calling his name, but he did not hear for the rush of blood in his ears.

His own house was right next door to Hector’s and it was as he reached his gates and shoved one side open that he felt a huge, powerful grip on his arm from behind. Paris whipped around.

Bitter irony stabbed at him that he had waited all evening for Hector to grab him like this, and now that he had—

“Get your hand off me, prince. Now.”

Hector’s hand dropped like a stone, and he shrank back. Paris turned and pushed through his gate, then stopped and turned around. He might as well let Hector know.

“Pay attention, Hector, because I am only going to say this once. I know you do not put much faith in the gods, but were I you, I would go and sacrifice to them for protection. Right now.” He took one step closer and Hector took a startled step back. “Because as the goddess is my witness, you are going to _suffer_ for the things you have said to me.”

Hector blinked and stared.

Paris left him standing at his open gates and slammed into his house.

*****

He _hated_ judgment.

Paris stood in the middle of his living room, his breaths hissing through tightly clenched teeth as he tried to control his fury. It was not working. He felt the presence of the goddess trying to soothe her favored. And that was not working, either.

His mind viciously played Hector’s words over and over, and his body trembled with the effort it was taking to suppress his rage.

How dare he, how _dare_ he! When he thought of the things he had let Hector _do_ to him… the _effort_ he exerted to control himself where Hector was concerned! How he let himself be tied up, _forbidden_ to touch, when he _needed_ to rut _wildly_ with him… How he always swallowed his own desires, his own burning need to cry out his love for him and to fall to his knees and _beg_ him never to go out into those fields again, because he knew it would devastate the man.

And all for what? So that Hector could slap his love in the face? _What_ in the name of Zeus did he think Paris tolerated all that _for?_

His rage was congealing, hardening into a cold layer over his being. He did not smash anything, he would not bellow at anyone. That was not his way.

He knew he was blessed with a mind sharper than that of most mortal men. But because he used it for devising novel ways of achieving pleasure, rather than devoting it to arts of war, he was considered less than other men.

Once in a while, some unfortunate person had to be reminded of the exquisite pain that could be Paris’s way. This time it was Hector’s turn.

 

*****

Paris walked in late as usual into his father’s advisory chambers. It was morning, and the room was full of advisors and several runners from the fields, come to give overnight activity reports. A few lieutenants also sat in the room.

None of these people held any interest whatsoever for Paris. His eyes raked over faces until they locked with Hector’s down the long table. Hector did not look well rested. He sat in full armor with his elbows on the table, lips pressed into his interlaced hands.

He watched Paris with raised eyes. Paris moved into the room. In this room no one paid attention to him, which was very good for his mood today.

He sat diagonally from Hector, and stared at him. After a few seconds, Hector dropped his eyes. Paris watched him breathe steadily for a few more moments before Hector lowered his arms and sat back in his chair. His eyes collided with Paris’s before flicking away, back to whichever runner was speaking.

Paris still watched him. Hector’s breathing had deepened. He shifted in his chair, and turned slightly away from Paris. He stayed that way for a beat, then his eyes flicked back, and then flicked away again.

Paris waited. After another moment, seemingly unable to help himself, Hector turned his head back to Paris and stared. He looked distressed.

Paris gave him a smile, and Hector’s look turned into alarm. He stood up, and walked out.

Paris, for his part, sat through the meeting, and enjoyed it.

“Alexandros. Paris! Stop for one moment!”

The meeting was over, and Paris was making his way down the hall back to his house. He had things he needed to take care of.

Hector tried again when Paris did not stop at his call. “I must speak with you.”

Paris stopped, turned and looked him head to toe. Hector’s face tightened with confusion. When nothing was forthcoming, Paris smirked. “So speak, studhorse.”

Hector’s face inflamed alarmingly, and he dropped his eyes. But as he was now looking down at Paris’s lips, he quickly raised them again. His eyebrows furrowed and Paris was aware that he clenched his fists. He strained to keep looking at Paris’s face.

Paris knew exactly what was distressing him, but since he was no longer interested in making any efforts on Hector’s behalf, he let its intensity burn in his eyes. Every hair on his body, every fiber of his being thrummed with the power of the goddess.

Hector seemed struck dumb. He simply sweated.

“Can you not speak? Oh, but how could I forget. _Animals_ don’t speak.”

Paris turned and began to walk away. He said over his shoulder, “When you think you are ready, I shall be at the goddess’s temple.”

One of the temple priests of Aphrodite was waiting for Paris as he arrived at the temple. He followed Paris as he made his way to the chamber he kept at the end of one of the long hallways, wanting to know if everything was to his satisfaction. Paris reached the chamber and opened the door and looked in.

After the advisory meeting that morning he had returned to his house and sent for two acolytes from the temple. He had let them know he would be staying at his temple rooms over the next few days and had given them specific instructions, in addition to the usual ones, to prepare.

Now, looking into the room, he saw they had done everything he asked, and more.

He stepped back out, and said, “If Prince Hector comes looking for me, send him back here.”

“Yes, my prince,” the priest bowed, and hurried back up the hallway to the main area of the temple. He met with the beloved of the goddess perhaps more than anyone else, and took pleasure in serving him. But this morning he found the young prince’s presence distressingly overwhelming, and was relieved to leave.

Paris pushed the door open and stepped into the room, walking towards the wide dais which had been set up in the middle. The dais was covered in silk cushions and sheets, leopard fur, leather items of useful elongated design, three young men, and two beautiful women.

He moved towards them, smiling as they shifted and made room for him in the middle of the dais.

He slid into their midst and, like moths to a flame, each pushed to be against him. They whimpered and pawed at him, already desperate, desire seeming to suffocate them. His presence seemed to threaten their minds, as if failing to touch him meant disintegration… or perhaps touching him meant unrestrained freedom.

He touched each of them, stroking slowly, soothingly. And as they writhed into positions in which to move against him and each other, Paris kept his ears open for the heavy footsteps he knew would soon come down the hallway.

He didn’t have long to wait, and as soon as he heard the door creak slowly open he rolled over the man on top of him and straddled him.

Their cocks pushed against each other and the man gasped eagerly and sat up under him, grabbing his buttocks and spreading him wide. Immediately one of the other men pressed in behind him, straddling as well, and began to push his cock against Paris’s entrance.

Paris purred, and arched, and Hector walked in.

Except for the soft, desperate panting of his companions, and the sounds of leather inside flesh, there was deathly silence in the room.

Paris reached behind him and grabbed the back of the man’s head just as he was penetrated. He moaned loudly before someone covered his mouth with theirs and someone else swallowed his cock. Reaching down with his other hand, he caressed the head moving against his stomach, sucking wetly.

They rocked against each other, clutching and pressing and gasping. And still, apart from their moans, there was silence in the room. Hector was still there.

The man inside Paris was about to climax. He wrapped his arms around Paris and frantically cried his name. Paris took pity on him and broke the kiss he was sharing, turned his head, and covered the man’s mouth with his.

That was all the man could take as he shouted and slammed his climax into Paris. It was his first time in Paris’s bed. Paris moaned appreciatively. The acolytes had chosen well.

He moved forward onto his hands and knees as the man pulled out. He dropped his head and kissed the man beneath him, who had collapsed and was running his shaking hands all over Paris. Paris threw his head back with a gasp as someone’s mouth covered his opening, sucking.

Then there was a very loud and painful sounding bump, a sharp intake of breath, and the sound of the door slamming shut. Hector was gone.

Intensely pleased, though by no means satisfied, Paris smiled with blazing eyes into the face of the man beneath him. The man began to mewl.

*****

Less than one minute after the last of Paris’s companions left, Hector returned. Paris assumed he had never left the temple to begin with. He should have, while he’d had the chance. He vaguely wondered what Hector had thought of his _group of idiots._

Hector stood just in front of the closed door, his face turned to the side. He was still in full armor.

Paris laughed humorlessly. He was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow. “Your armor will not protect you here.”

Hector began to undress.

Paris watched him coldly. “Leave your arm and shin guards on. You will likely need those.”

Soon, aside from his arms and shins, Hector stood naked before him. His face was a rare shade of scarlet and his body the dream of gods.

All Paris saw was red.

“Also,” he continued through gritted teeth, “you might be more comfortable on your knees.”

Hector’s slow descent, first on one knee then the other, should have cooled Paris’s rage, but it did not. But he had never been in a room alone with Hector on his knees, and the sight made him push up into a sitting position.

At that moment there was a knock at the door. Hector’s eyes grew so wide Paris smiled despite himself.

“Not a moment too soon!” he called, and the door opened. A young man stepped in. He had not been part of the earlier group, but was a man Paris could rely on for many things.

Hector twisted his head away and even from where he sat Paris could hear his labored breathing. The man kept his eyes on Paris and smiled roguishly.

“I waited and watched, as you requested, Prince.”

“And your hard work has paid off,” Paris smirked. He reached behind him across the dais and picked up a long thin belt of leather. By the time he had turned around again the man was taking off his robe and sitting flush behind him. He spread his legs around Paris and pushed his cock against the small of his back.

Paris arched slightly into him, purring as his ears received a skillful licking, but did not turn around.

“Hector, come here.”

Head still turned to the side, Hector’s eyes squeezed shut, as if he willed himself to move. His erection was complete, hard and leaking, and was having no problems moving on its own.

Finally, he placed one knee in front of the other, and crept across the rug covered floor. Paris wondered at his own softness for letting him keep the shin guards on.

The man leaned into Paris’s ear. “He looks like a god…” he whispered. “And I am still not allowed to kiss him?”

“You should not even be looking at him, if I remember my instructions correctly,” Paris replied mildly.

The man pressed his face into Paris’s neck and asked no further questions.

When Hector was two feet from him, he stopped. Paris spread his legs wider, lifted his finger and crooked it. Hector moved into the space between his legs and the heat from his taut stomach muscles magnetized Paris’s cock forward. Paris spread his legs even wider to accommodate his huge body, their faces nearly level even with Hector on his knees.

He put a finger under Hector’s chin and turned his head until he faced him. Hector kept his eyes closed and Paris patiently waited for him to open them. When he did, despite knowing what he would see, Paris’s heart stilled.

The plea in them was flawless. Unconditional.

Paris leaned forward and covered Hector’s mouth with his.

He swallowed Hector’s choked gasp and slid his tongue inside. He kissed Hector deeply, and while Hector sucked on his tongue as though on waterskin in a desert, Paris looped the leather belt around Hector’s neck.

Its buckle would not allow it to tighten or loosen anymore than what Paris had secured. Hector started, but did not break the kiss. Paris pulled back and trailed the leather line in his fingers until it reached its end. Then he gently pushed back against the man licking his neck.

The man moved from behind him and laid on the floor beside Hector. Paris waited for him to turn onto his stomach, as he had told him to. The man looked petulantly at Paris, wanting to face Hector. It was his stubbornness that Paris found so attractive. But he was not in the mood for it at the moment. The man turned over.

“Perform, Hector,” Paris flicked the line in his hand. Hector did not move. Paris eyed him, but Hector’s face was now turned in the other direction. “No? Yet I remember quite clearly you said—”

“Paris…” Hector rasped shakily. Paris’s anger flared.

He turned to the man lying quietly on his stomach before Hector. “Asius, leave us.”

The man looked at Paris in shock, which did not surprise Paris. He had never let anyone walk out of his chamber unsatisfied. He would have to do something very special for him, to make up for it. But at the moment he could think of nothing but his brother on his knees before him.

The door shut quietly behind Asius.

Paris brought his eyes back to Hector’s flushed face. They were finally alone.

Paris’s head burned with a furious heat he could not temper, and did not want to try. And that was what made it worse, that his love for this man had turned into something dark and uncontrollable that twisted in his body and made Eris dance with terrifying glee inside him. It was more painful than anything he had ever experienced.

He clenched the leather belt in his hand, twisting it as his words ground out of him, each one more painful than the one before.

“I understand you, Hector,” he hissed, “more than your own inept mind could ever grasp. Which is part of the reason you are nowhere _near_ understanding me—”

“Alexandros…” Hector’s voice shook, and his body trembled just as badly. He swallowed, his head still turned away. “I-… You’ve-… When I said—”

“I am not you,” Paris grated on, ignoring him. “And I am not anyone else. I know what I am, what path I have chosen. All of Troy is free to judge me as they please. But what I do with _you_ —” His voice cracked, and he cursed himself viciously, and breathed. “And if you ever _dare_ repeat what you said to me, what I shall do to you next time will not be half as pleasant an experience as this one. Get up against the wall and face me.”

Hector had not been breathing. He had been paying attention, of that Paris had no doubt. Now he shut his eyes, and then opened them and crept on his knees to the wall.

He looked up at Paris. Paris did not meet his eyes. No more pleading.

He wrapped the leather line in his hand, and lifting his leg, hooked it over Hector’s shoulder. Then he reached behind and sank his hand, leather and all, into Hector’s long, thick locks. He twisted, and wrapped the locks around his hand and wrist.

Hector made a sound. Paris told himself it was not a whimper, but, though he knew better, he looked down into Hector’s upturned face. His heart slammed, and his fury stuttered as he stared in shock at Hector’s warm brown eyes swimming in unshed tears that wetly spiked his long lashes.

Paris pulled his eyes away, to his dripping cock sliding against his stomach, and moved closer. Hector was free to feel whatever he wanted. It was not his concern.

He pushed down on his cock until it pointed straight at Hector’s mouth.

“I am sorry, Alexandros,” Hector whispered thickly against the tip of his cock.

Paris gritted his teeth. Hector’s breath was hot, and his cock pulsed in response. He pushed against Hector’s mouth. He expected reluctance, which was fine.

But what he got was madness. Hector sucked at him with complete, animal abandon. His teeth scraped, his tongue swirled everywhere, licking insistently into Paris’s leaking slit, licking all the way down to his balls and then back up.

Paris gripped his hair and threw his head back with a loud gasp. Then he was using his leg over Hector’s shoulder to pull him closer, and he shifted and then was thrusting vengefully into Hector’s face. He held Hector’s head steady, with no room for any movement at all, and in that indescribable heat and sensation, he forgot everything else.

He listened to Hector breathe through his nose, pant around his cock, sucking, then licking, then sucking even harder. Hector was eating him alive.

He leaned into Hector’s face and supported himself with his hand against the wall, plunging. When Hector sucked he pulled nearly all the way out, when his mouth relaxed Paris thrust deep. Hector breathed steadily, groaning deep in his throat. They were both sweating.

Yet Paris had only begun. He was going to make himself last for this, and Hector was going to have difficulty speaking, much less _deriding,_ when he was done with him. He was going to make Hector suck him until Hector's throat was raw and he was begging. And when Paris's love finally soothed down his throat Hector would never again dream of breaking his heart.

Hector’s fingers dug into his buttocks, spreading him, then he felt one warm rough finger stroking under his cock, getting slick with saliva, and then returning to press into his cleft. He panted and pulled his cock all the way out to the head and looked down.

Hector was watching him, his wet eyes dark and roiling with pleas, atonement, supplication. His mouth squeezed over the head of Paris’s cock, and Paris’s heart squeezed because he could not help it. But it made no difference to him.

He felt Hector’s finger push in, and he dropped his head back and pushed into Hector’s mouth once more. He rammed his rhythm out, shuddering each time his cock-head bumped the back of Hector’s throat.

He shut his eyes and gave himself over to his pleasure. His fingers tightened in Hector’s hair, and Hector groaned deeply around his cock.

It was Hector’s mouth, and Hector’s tongue, and his shoulder under Paris’s knee, and his heat, his hands on Paris’s body. It was _knowing_ this was Hector feasting on him… sensations Paris had never felt before…

It was those things that swam in his mind so that Paris was no longer in control of his body. The goddess rode him hard, magnifying his pleasure until he began to moan in short steady cries. And somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was pulling Hector’s hair out by the roots.

Then Hector groaned, and wrapped his arms around his hips. Paris lost himself, and began to climax.

When Paris became aware of himself again, he pushed away from Hector, slowly sliding his cock out of his mouth and letting his hand drop out of his hair. He dropped the leather belt he was gripping.

His legs held very little power, but he made himself stand upright. Hector was breathing hard, his head bowed, but as Paris watched he slowly leaned forward, as if to rest his forehead against Paris’s stomach.

Paris pulled back one step. Hector stopped moving. Paris turned away and walked back towards his dais and pulled on the robe he had discarded upon walking into the room. It seemed like years ago.

He pulled it on, with no words or movement from Hector still. Paris walked to the door.

“ _Alexandros_ …” Hector finally whispered.

And Paris’s heart stopped completely. Hector was begging. Paris had heard him beg before while in the throes of passion, and he had seen the plea in his eyes earlier, but those were different. Now, he barely recognized Hector’s voice. He sounded completely… defeated.

“I… Before you leave I feel you should hear that… I…” his voice faded.

Hector struggled, and brought it back. “I now see that I… that you have never in the past treated me like… like a mere… ”

Paris didn’t turn to him. “Well, comprehension demands concrete comparisons. For some.” He pulled open the door. “Go back into your fields, Hector. Maybe in a week I will be able to look at your face again.”

As he walked out he made sure the door did not slam behind him. That was, after all, not his way.

 _End_


	2. One Promise From Hector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week later..

It was dark in the temple chamber. Paris sat on the window sill, facing the inner courtyard of Aphrodite’s temple, and looked up at the heavens.

There was a moon, and nothing else. It gave off enough light so he could see the gleam of pillars in the courtyard.

Inside his chamber, he could see his pulled up knee as a sliver shape in front of him. There was no other source of light, as he had shaken his head at the acolytes’ offer to light the torches. There was nothing he wanted to see in here.

Sitting in the gloom near the door was one of the temple priests. He had come in a while ago and Paris lost track of how long the old man had been sitting there. The man had not said anything to him the entire time, but there were platters of food and goblets of wine on a low table near him. He simply sat and patiently waited for Paris to come and eat.

Paris had not eaten, or spoken, for two days. And he had not seen Hector for seven.

When last Paris had seen him, Hector had been apologizing in this very room, and Paris had still been too incensed to accept it. He had told him to stay out of his sight for a week.

Well, the week was now over and he should feel better, because his anger had passed. But he did not. His dissipated anger had left in its stead a profound numbness, so that since his ordeal with Hector his mind had all but shut down, weary of their perpetual struggle against each other.

He had been sitting in this room since that night, and he had no desire to leave it.

Paris closed his eyes. He _had_ no desires left in his body, and because of that the realms of the goddess lay beyond his reach, and she left him alone.

He was tired and vulnerable, and nothing but himself. A man who by the gifts of a goddess lived the life of a blessed child, protected from a world that was otherwise entirely made up of one unattainable other.

Then, in the silence of the chamber, the door began to creak open.

Despite the pounding of his heart, Paris held himself still and didn’t turn his head. When the door stopped opening he heard a shuffle of robes as the priest stood up and left.

After that, the silence stretched for a long time. His mind floundered, overwhelmed under the weight of countless unspoken fears.

At last he said hoarsely, “I know you wish I had never been born.” He kept his eyes on the stone pillars outside. “Often you have whispered so while I lost myself in your arms. ”

He stopped and breathed to cool the fire in his head. After a few moments he continued. “But as you blame me, so I blame my goddess. Yet if I had to do it all over again…”

Hector began to walk into the room.

Paris silently cursed himself as his body began to shake. His head pounded with the effort it was taking to hold himself together, and _feeling_ Hector stalking towards him was…

He swiftly stood up and turned to him in the gloom.

Hector kept coming towards him, until he was right up against Paris, and Paris had to take a step backwards.

It seemed to be what Hector wanted, as he took another step forward. Paris placed his hands on Hector’s bare arms under the sleeves of his robe and, despite moving backwards, pushed gently against him.

“No, Hector,” he whispered thickly, shaking his head. But Hector would not stop. Paris felt the wall press up behind him, and still Hector did not stop his forward momentum. He pushed into Paris, pressing him into the wall.

His heady scent permeated the warm space between them, and Paris heard himself whimper. His fingers tightened on Hector’s arms.

Hector lifted his arm and rested it against the wall above Paris’s head. His other arm did not move. He leaned into Paris, his face a dark shadow staring down, soft breaths escaping from it. But he said nothing.

“What in the name of Aphrodite do you _want_ from me,” Paris cried. He squeezed his eyes shut at the nakedness in his voice. Aphrodite’s presence was precisely what he needed the most at this moment. But as it was, it was just his oldest brother and himself, and he felt young and afraid.

Hector’s arm above him lowered and his fingers trailed slowly in the curls at the crown of his head. Hector’s eyes continued to burn into him and his face heated with the intensity of the scrutiny. He was thankful no light shone in the room.

He wanted to shout at Hector, to yell and pound him into the ground. But there was absolutely nothing left in him with which to fight.

“You do and say as you please,” he choked, shaking Hector hard by the arm he was gripping too tightly. “And that is the problem. No one controls you but yourself.” He shook him again. “ _That_ is the problem.”

Hector’s fingers sank lower into his hair, twisting, and Paris squeezed his eyes shut against scalding tears. Alone or no, he would not shed tears like a child.

Hector’s face sank closer to his, and Paris thought he meant to speak. But he still said nothing, only stared at him in the darkness.

What did he look for? Why would he not speak? Why would he not open his mouth and relinquish a part of himself to Paris. Just a small part of him that would belong to Paris. That Paris could touch when he desired, look at for as long as he pleased, understand completely, and keep forever in his bed.

His chest heaved, and he cursed himself, swallowing every sob that tried to force its way out of him. “Have I not— Do I not _deserve_ more— I _need_ more—”

“You are dangerous, Alexandros,” Hector finally said softly. “I do not trust you, nor do I understand you. Yet, here I am with you. Always ending up with you. You do not _deserve_ anything in this life, for the wrongs you have done. Yet I stand here, holding you, _needing_ you…”

“But I want—”

“It does not matter what you _want_. You _have_ something, if you want it.”

Paris raised his eyes to his brother’s stern face. “I do not want _something,_ ” he whispered fiercely, “I want _everything_.”

“Yes, you do,” Hector shook his head resignedly. “You have no control, and no mercy. You chase me everywhere. You come after me, ready to raze Troy to get me.”

“And anyone else that stands in my way.”

“And _that_ is your problem,” Hector whispered back just as fiercely. “Must _everyone_ suffer forever because of you?”

Paris pressed his lips together and dropped his head. His breaths hitched. “I do not care if the whole _world_ suffers because of me.”

“Ah, of course you d—”

His grip tightened on Hector’s sleeve, and he twisted it. “You are not in that world, Hector. You are in _mine_. Ours is a world of two. And I _will_ come after you, any way I can.”

Paris stopped talking as Hector very lightly placed his thumb over his mouth. He raised his eyes to find Hector staring down at him.

“But that you were never born to Troy,” Hector whispered.

Paris frowned fiercely in an effort to stave off his tears, but it was no use. He sobbed hard, once, and before he could will himself under control, buried his face in Hector’s shoulder and wept his heart out. Hector silently held him.

He clutched Hector’s sleeve. “I accept that I only dream that you are here with me,” he whispered, his voice thick with tears. “Hector is actually on the battlefield, where he always is, at war to save his city. What I clutch here is a dream I want for myself…”

Hector’s fingers in his hair clenched painfully tight. “I am certainly real, Xandros,” he said in a strained voice. “And you _have_ something.”

Paris moaned and dropped his head, and shook it.

Hector placed his hand on Paris’s hip, and Paris stilled, refusing to move into his hand. Hector’s hand squeezed, gently but firmly pulling him forward, but Paris pressed back against the wall.

For long moments it was just the sound of their breathing.

“I want to kiss you,” Hector finally rasped, saying the words as if telling his deepest, darkest secret. It was enough to stop Paris’s heart.

Hector had never expressed a desire to kiss him, and Paris understood that it was an offer. Of the things that Hector could give.

Hector slowly leaned down and pressed his lips into Paris’s forehead, and Paris's tears leaked out of his eyes.

Then Hector moved his face, rubbing its side against Paris’s wet one. Paris’s thigh muscles quivered, and he was afraid he would slide to the floor.

Hector began to move his mouth slowly forward across Paris’s cheek. Inch, by reluctant inch. Paris breathed, and waited. Finally Hector’s mouth was right against the side of his. Paris turned his head slightly, opening his mouth, and Hector slid his tongue inside.

Paris’s arms rushed up and clamped around Hector’s neck and squeezed, and then he was forced to break the kiss because he sobbed so hard. He bent his head until his chin was buried in his chest, and tried to sniff as quietly as he could.

Hector lowered his head until he caught Paris’s mouth with his own, and kissed him deeply. Not as a preamble to a fight, and not as an epilogue to defeat, but for its own sake, as everything they had.

Paris gasped into his mouth, knowing the difference, realizing he was sobbing pitifully, but Hector only kissed him deeper.

He tried to turn his head aside, to catch his breath, but still Hector wouldn’t let him break the kiss.

So Paris kissed him back. He pushed his fingers into Hector’s curls and dug his blunt nails into his scalp. Hector groaned deep in his chest and ground slowly against him, and the ache in Paris’s chest inflamed.

Suddenly, forcefully, Hector’s arm pushed in behind him and he clenched a fistful of Paris’s robe. Then he pushed Paris so hard up against the wall that Paris’s feet lifted off the floor and he was forced to wrap his legs around Hector’s waist.

Hector ground into him, then began to bump against him. Paris choked his gasps into Hector’s mouth as Hector’s stomach muscles bumped against his stiff erection. Hector finally let his mouth slide away, and Paris moaned into his neck, clutching at his robe hard enough to rip it.

Hector pulled back from the wall, taking Paris with him, and walked blindly to the bed. Hector was pulling on the belt of his own robe, pulling his robe off around Paris’s clinging limbs and then Paris felt himself being lowered. Hector’s weight press down on top of him and Hector undressed Paris from beneath his body.

When they were both naked and burning against each other, Paris slid his hands down the length of his brother’s body, trying not to cry all over again at the familiar crush of hard muscles above him.

But when his hand stroked past Hector’s stomach, Hector froze. He lifted himself slightly off Paris, away from his hand.

Paris’s heart contracted, and his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and he laid there quietly. Finally, he heaved a deep breath, which came out as nothing more than a soft exhale.

He withdrew his hand, and opened his eyes. Hector was looking down into his face.

For a painful eternity, Paris stared back into his deep, dark eyes, wanting.

Then he smiled slowly, shyly, and ran his calf over the back of Hector’s warm leg.

Hector did not smile back, his face taut with contemplation, and slight awe. Paris watched, his smile widening. Hector was right to be worried.

He kept watching, and saw the exact moment Hector reached a decision.

Hector lowered his head, just as Paris lifted his.

Hector pressed warm, wet kisses on his mouth, his eyes, his jaw, his neck, everywhere, supporting himself on his elbows and grinding into Paris with a confidence that melted Paris into the bed.

He slid one hand into Paris’s hair and used the other one to pull up Paris’s leg and drape it around his waist, swallowing every gasp of submission that escaped Paris’s mouth.

And Paris _was_ gasping alarmingly, moaning so plaintively he fought burning tears. He knew what Hector was doing, even though he had never done it before.

Here were assurances, promises that words could never convey. That while he was with him, Hector was his completely.

Paris clutched back, tightened his legs around Hector’s waist, pushed up into him, showed him he understood.

Hector reared up unto his hands, and Paris clung to his chest, rising with him as he pushed forward on the bed, until Paris’s head bumped the wall. Hector dropped his face into Paris’s neck and began to ride him hard. Assurances. Paris closed his eyes and wailed into Hector’s ear.

Hector was slamming him into the wall, and when Paris tried to shift slightly, Hector snarled and swung him away from the wall.

Paris was now flat on his back, legs hooked over Hector’s thighs, with Hector’s arms braced on either side him. But Hector was driving into him so hard that they were in danger of falling out of the bed. He scrambled for purchase but Hector was relentless.

“Hector, wait...!” he gasped, and Hector pushed his arm under him, and lifted him off the bed. Paris kept his legs tight around him, flustered, as Hector lowered them both to the floor, trailing silk sheets and pillows.

Hector pulled at Paris’s leg and turned him over, unto his knees. Paris braced himself on his elbows, his chest low to the floor, head turned to the side. Hector knelt behind him and did the same, covering his body completely.

His breaths came in short gasps as Hector’s heated chest pressed into his back. But he barely had time to circle his arms around Hector’s and grip his forearms to anchor himself before Hector started riding him in sinuous waves.

Hector ground into him, forward and up, lifting Paris’s knees off the floor with each thrust but holding him down with his forearms. Paris keened helplessly, his body undulating under Hector’s assault like a boat battered by heavy waves.

His hand slipped off Hector’s slick forearm and he tried to regain his grip, but Hector growled feverishly into his ear and tightened his arms around him, pulling Paris harder into his body.

Paris moaned low in his throat, liking these assurances, and was beginning to float. He tried again to hold on to Hector’s arm, but Hector would not slow down long enough for him to orient himself. Hector surged on top of him, his forehead sweeping against Paris’s temple, his body forcing Paris’s to move with his, his rhythm flawless and incessant, until Paris began to wail deliriously.

Then Hector was reaching under him and holding his hand still, letting Paris’s throbbing erection beat against his palm as he rode him. Without warning his fist clamped and squeezed, and Paris erupted screaming his name.

*****

Much later, as Paris laid stretched out on the bed on top of Hector’s hard back, shifting and settling into him, he pressed his lips into his brother’s warm nape, and whispered.

He spoke too softly for Hector to hear his words, and Hector, his head turned to the side and resting on his crossed arms, only blinked steadily into the silver gloom.

But Paris whispered that he loved him. And that he would take him anyway he could get him.

And when tomorrow came he would once again set about getting Hector. Anyway he could.

 _End_


End file.
